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Contagious outrageous
2002-11-15 | 7:05 p.m.

I sincerely hate rollover hangovers. I DESPISE rollover hangovers. See, they're called such a name because it's like when no one wins the lottery in ages, then there's all this money floating about in the Winalot stratosphere or wherever - hidden in Billy Connolly's purple beard seems most likely - then all of a sudden someone wins (like that juvenile delinquent Michael Carroll). Only winning a hangover is probably the worst prize imaginable (apart from ebola I suppose).

I managed to make it through my seminar, but once I was outside the building I had a sip of some diet coke then had that feeling, you know, that feeling, that you're going to puke your guts up. I was too far from any toilet so I ran to Victoria Park where my stomach involuntarily emptied itself, and I walked home shaking all the way like a maraca.

Myra Hindley is dead! The fire strike is over! (For now.) I'm going to Varsity/Loaded Dog AGAIN tonight! I'm going to cleanse and purify by only drinking tap water as my insides have been poisoned through and through and I want the pain to dieeeee (like Myra Hindley....well actually.. ah fuck it).

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